New Blog Title

You'll notice that I've changed the title of my blog, to 'Sixteen Secrets.' This is because I felt that 'Secrets of a Sixteen Year Old' is really no longer relevant, seeing as I'm actually seventeen, and just under six months out from eighteen. I hope you don't mind. I'll be adding some other things too, like a page counter, maybe. How exciting! 

I hope you are all still enjoying my blog, and if you have any suggestions or comments, they're always welcome :).

Undress Me...

I suddenly felt my self esteem deflating. Taking these pictures makes me feel sexy and beautiful. I haven't retouched them. This is me.

New Pictures!

...Coming Soon...

ANZAC Day

Today, the 25th of April marks the 93rd anniversary of the landing of New Zealand and Australian soldiers at Gallipoli in 1915. The aim was to capture the Dardanelles, but by the end of the campaign, it was still in Turkish hands and over 120,000 men had lost their lives - 8500 Australians and 2721 New Zealanders. 

ANZAC Day began a year later, and has continued ever since. It now commemorates all the men who were willing to sacrifice their lives for our freedom and country. It honours those who did not return, and thanks those who did. It is a day of reflection, and this is shown in the many dawn services that take place all over the country. The deaths at Gallipoli - although pale in comparison to those in France - symbol the beginning of a national identity and a life-long friendship with the Australians.

This Australasian holiday makes me proud to be a New Zealander. To hear 'The Last Post' played at the dawn service makes me thank those who served - my great grandfather, and my Granddad. They were willing to stand up for Queen and country, and willing to risk their lives so that we could be free. It is a debt I can never repay.

Melbourne

Well, I'm back from Melbourne and here to share with you the tales of my journey!

What a fantastic city Melbourne is! It's so different from Auckland, it's so busy and there seems to be shops on every corner and down every alleyway. There's something always happening, buskers everywhere were making noise, there was very rarely a quiet street to walk down. 

My first bit of excitement was the taxi driver who took us from the airport to our hotel near China town. He sounded as though he was from Yemen, and was an anti-Semitic Orthodox Christian. He drove on the motorway pointing out the sights, "there's the golden french fry and crab sticks," he said to a sculpture of - well, a giant french fry like piece of art. He then went on to inform us that "everything is big in Australia, except Australian minds." He complained about John Howard, and then Kevin Rudd, a "half-Jew" who can't be expected to change anything.

Most of the holiday was taken up with exploring the city on foot, money burning a hole in our pockets. There were so many shops - I don't even think we made a dent in them. Unfortunately, we didn't see much to buy as everything was either exactly what we had at home or too expensive, but it was exciting nonetheless.

On our second night in Melbourne, we walked up to Lygon Street, which is where all the Italian cafes and restaurants are. As you walk down the street, they accost you, offering you free drinks and special deals if you'll dine with them. Eventually we were convinced to go into a restaurant where the woman insisted that "my mum's the chef," (although when I walked past the kitchen on my way to the bathroom there was no old Italian woman in sight). We had the honour, if you can call it that, of being seated near a group who looked like they were the mob. Four younger men, 25 and under were seated with their father, a dark overweight Italian man. Later, they were joined by two older men. One was quite old and reserved, and the other wore and open shirt with a gold chain over his hairy chest. You didn't want to mess with him. The waitress was rather attentive to the, and at one stage she was walking towards us, but the old man made a hand gesture and she quickly diverted her path. It probably wasn't the mob, but it sure made the meal a lot more exciting.

Day three we visited the International Cake Shop, except they only sell Greek cakes. They are the most delicious cakes I've ever had. I had a walnut baklava roll, my father had a pistachio baklava roll dipped in chocolate, and my little sister had a sweet cannelloni. Yum! If you ever go to Melbourne, make sure you visit the cake shop. Or one of the many chocolate shops they have. There seemed to be a chocolate shop in every arcade. I couldn't get over it, and eventually we stopped at San Churro and had hot chocolates.

Other sites we visited was the Old Melbourne Gaol - which is definitely worth a trip, St Kilda - where it feels as though you should be in the 1920's, especially when you go to Luna Park, the markets, Shrine of Remembrance and the Melbourne Museum. 

Each night we ate to a different theme. Night one we ate at Dracula's, the theatre restaurant. Night two was Lygon Street, Night three we bought food from the markets and ate them in the hotel room. On night four we did Greek and ate at Dion, if you go there I recommend the lemon lamb. Mouth watering, and on night five we ate at Post-Deng. Or Post-Mao. I can't remember what it was called, but it was in China Town, and I would say go for the Peking Duck Banquet. Delicious!

Sorry!

Sorry! I know, I'm lazy and terrible. I should have written a really awesome post three days ago. But I didn't, and now I'm just writing this super lame one about how sorry I am for not posting. It's not even a real post.

I'm going to Melbourne tomorrow for about five days, and when I come back I promise to have a super fantastic post. Maybe I'll even include pictures from my trip. Exciting, huh?

Cinders to Cinderella

My friend was always average looking. She wasn't unattractive, but I always looked better by comparison. Although it's vain, I always felt good sitting with her at parties where there might be single boys lurking. Tall and lanky, her movements are always quite awkward. Her mousy blonde hair never did anything for her pale complexion.

Then she got a make over. She dyed her hair to a dark chocolate brown, as well as getting a side fringe and layering. Now she's gorgeous. I'm not better looking by comparison any more. Although I'm so happy that suddenly she's getting all this attention, and that she feels way more confident in herself, a part of me (a large part) is bitter because I can't do anything that dramatic to make me look good. I want someone to tell me that I look stunning like they tell her. In short, I'm jealous.

Only the Lonely.

I'm not particularly close with anyone. I used to have a best friend, but even then I didn't tell them everything. I have a large groups of friends at school, but if I had a problem, I'm not sure I'd go to them for help. I don't mind not being close to anybody, as I've always been a solitary kind of person despite the outgoing personality and confidence. Sometimes however, the loneliness gets to me. When I need reassurance or a pick me up, I don't always have someone to turn to.

It comes down to lack of trust. I always think that people are backstabbing me when I'm not around, or that they only hang round with me because I don't have anyone else to hang round with me. I know that this probably isn't the case, but the thoughts still nag at me. When someone rolls their eyes at me in a joking manner, I can't help but think, "are they joking or for real?" 

After awhile, it starts to get to you.